Stay
by threeredcardinals
Summary: It was Deeks, of course it was Deeks, and Kensi began to fight a three-way battle in her own head as she struggled to remain upright, as well as deliberate whether or not she was going to hit Deeks for not showing up right away or kiss him for being, once again, her knight in shining armor.


**I basically put an ending on an old work in progress. I'm not sure how I feel about this one, but I hope you enjoy it. c:**

"So what you're saying is—I have to go undercover. . .as a prostitute?" Kensi was doing her best to keep her voice calm, though the audacity of what Callen was currently suggesting was making her panicky.

Sure, she had gone under before as arm candy, or a touchy mistress—but a prostitute? Kensi bit her lip and crossed her arms, attempting to keep from saying anything she'd regret.

Truth was, she absolutely despised the cases where they sent her in to be touched and groped and manhandled by these random men, and then expected her to get over it just as fast as if she hadn't just been felt up by a serial killer. She could get through it with a fake smile and talk the boys into letting her leave early—but after that, she'd bolt straight for her car, driving home at speeds that could get her pulled over. She'd burst into her home and make a beeline for her bathroom, turning the shower onto the hottest setting and scrubbing herself over and over again, rinsing and repeating until she could finally feel clean again, washing the men's hands and that dirty, guilty feeling down the drain.

"No, no," Callen said, waving a hand dismissively. "It'll be just like the Kallstrom case."

Oh, no. The Kallstrom case had been one of the worst for Kensi—she had to make her way through the club, flirting with half of the men and checking them all for scars on their jaws. At one point, she had been instructed to lay low, so she had slipped into the bathroom—only to be confronted by a dark man with a thick beard and an even thicker accent. Flashes of being shoved up against a chain link fence and the cold steel of a knife gliding up her thigh made her shudder.

"Look, I understand that this is hard for you, but this is one of our last chances to get him—he's gotten girls from this club everyday this week."

No, Callen did _not _understand how difficult this was for her, but she'd do it. She always did. It was her job.

"Of course."

Something akin to relief crossed the blonde agent's face, and he nodded. "Sam, Deeks, and I will all be in there with you—we'll have you bugged, we won't let you out of our sight."

Behind Callen, Deeks shifted, but if he had anything to say, he didn't voice it. Kensi half-heartedly wished he'd make a crack right now about this not being different from her normal night job or something of the like, but her partner merely ran a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable.

"I'll, uh, go get dressed." Kensi turned abruptly and hurried off to find Hetty, who always provided her with the usual: a slinky dress, a good luck wish, and a slightly pained smile, as if the older woman knew just how difficult it was for Kensi to do operations like this. And, every time, Kensi would smile back and thank Hetty for the dress, her face feeling as fake as the African masks Hetty kept hanging in her study from her trips to Morocco.

This evening was no different, and as the small woman handed Kensi a pair of dangerously high heels to go with her club dress, a hand caught ahold of Kensi's forearm.

Hetty's mouth opened, as if she was going to say something, then she shut it and shook her head. "Good luck, Miss Blye."

"Thank you," Kensi said with a glass smile, shiny and see-through. Hetty patted her arm before returning to her study, leaving Kensi feeling more alone than she had in a very long time.

~x~

"See anything?" Callen's voice was a mere murmur in her ear, his head dipping downwards and his lips brushing against her jaw. To an onlooker, they looked just like a couple ready for an evening together—but Kensi knew that underneath his loving facade, Callen was as collected and professional as always.

They had posed as a couple several times, and, in complete honesty, Kensi didn't mind being this close to him, which, for her, was a big deal. They had, actually, gotten extremely touchy before—there had even been an operation where they had to lock lips for roughly five minutes in order to completely convince the drug dealer that they were, in fact, an item. Her own partner hadn't been very happy about that operation.

And she really did like Callen—he was extremely attractive and a good friend, but she couldn't picture him as anything more. Same with Sam—she had lost count of the amount of times she had kissed the large man, who had his own dark allure, yet there had never been butterflies or any of the like.

Despite the lack of emotion she felt towards the two agents, they were the only people—besides Deeks, but he was her partner, so that was different—that she actually trusted to be close or intimate with her. Ever since Jack, she had been single—most assumed it was just because her ex-fiancee had hurt her emotionally, but the reality was that these men that she had to oblige to on operations had started to hurt her psychologically.

It wasn't for a lack of trying, really, because she had tried. Getting over Jack gave birth to her "one date" rule, but that quickly died out as her undercover ops became more frequent. Gentle hands resting on her waist or casual arms slung around her shoulders brought back terrifying flashbacks of tightly-gripping fingers and rough hands that wanted nothing but to do her in. After several near panic attacks and leaving well-intending but confused men standing on her doorstep, Kensi gave up dating altogether, pegging it as just another job hazard.

"No, of course not, silly." Kensi answered his previous question, letting out a girly, high-pitched laugh and swatting Callen playfully on the arm.

Callen nodded absentmindedly, taking in her answer and continuing to scan the crowded club, the bass pulsing from a massive stereo system in the corner. After a moment, Callen gently took a hold of her arm and tugged her to the bar—most likely on instructions from Eric, speaking through Callen's earwig.

Without her own, Kensi felt exposed, but she knew it was a necessary length that she had to take. The guy they were after—Hernandez, they believed his name was, Julio Hernandez—would recognize it right away, and her cover would be blown. In order to communicate with Nell or Eric, Kensi would have to get close enough to one of the boys to speak into theirs, which would make her look like even more of a whore to any onlookers—but seeing as that was all Hernandez wanted, there were no problems there.

Callen guided her through the crowd to the bar, taking a seat next to her. Waving to the bartender, he ordered a gin for himself and a cosmo for Kensi. It wasn't until the man set down the drink in front of her when Kensi noticed the reptilian ink snaking up under his long-sleeved shirt.

Kensi casually took out her phone, pretending to type out a message and sneakily snapping a picture of his face. With a tap, she sent it off to Eric, and leaned over to nuzzle Callen's neck.

"Eric, ID the photo I sent," she breathed, her voice just loud enough for the earwig to pick up. "Bartender."

Callen kissed her briefly, then stood and made sure to proclaim loudly that he was going to find a restroom. Seeing as the only other person at the bar was an older man, Kensi knew this was her cue to get started.

The bartender had pulled out a damp cloth and was running it over the marble counter top, unfortunately not using the tattooed hand.

Quickly taking the last sip of her drink, Kensi fluttered her fingers in his direction, catching his attention with a flirtatious smile. She leaned forward, making sure her chest was clearly on display. "Excuse me," she said, looking up at him from under her lashes. "Could I have another?"

His eyes flicked down to the low plunge of her dress and then back up to her face, and she stifled the urge to yank the cloth up to cover herself. "Of course." His voice was low and even, his words measured, but his dark eyes left hers as the older man, who had been waiting longer, rapped his fingers on the bar for more shots.

Knowing she had to figure out whether or not he was the one sooner rather than later and that she was losing his attention, Kensi gave a tiny cough and leaned forward even farther, every fiber of her being screaming while she could practically feel his eyes roaming over her exposed skin.

She gave him her best fake smile as he quickly got to work on her drink, whipping out a tumbler and a fresh glass, ignoring the protests of the other man.

He handed her the completed martini, and she took a delicate sip. Pretending to just have noticed the tattoo on his hand, she placed her drink onto the counter and quickly captured his hand in her own.

"Oh, my word," she gushed. "I _love _your tattoo! What is it, a dragon?"

Though startled, the bartender pulled away from her grasp with a smile and gently tugged back the cloth. "Oh, no, it's a snake." Now unobstructed by his sleeve, Kensi could clearly see the serpent twined around his thick wrist—and immediately knew he wasn't Hernandez.

Standing abruptly, Kensi took her drink in one hand and waved with the other. "Well, I have to go, maybe I'll see you later."

"But—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Kensi had melted back into the growing crowd, obscured by the sudden cloud of people. Shoving her way through, she glanced around, searching for any sign of Callen, Sam, or Deeks. A flash of gold caught her eye, and she watched a tall silhouette lean against a far wall, half encased in shadow—Deeks.

She hurried after him, taking care to check all of the visible hands for tell-tale ink. Escaping from the crowd and being jostled by more than one elbow, she made her way along the wall.

"Hey," she said rather breathlessly, running a hand through her hair. Even with her high heels on, Deeks was still taller than she was—she had somehow forgotten how good he looked in those suits of Hetty's, and she stifled the urge to readjust his tie.

"Hey," Deeks squinted over at the bar. "That our guy?"

Kensi shook her head. "It was a snake on his wrist, not a dragon on his hand."

"Mmm." Deeks pressed a finger to his earwig. "You getting all this, Eric?"

Eric must have answered in the affirmative, for Deeks just nodded. Turning back to Kensi, he shrugged. "Eric said the profile didn't match either—apparently his name is James Kreider, and he doesn't have a criminal record."

"Still, could've just been an alias."

"Hernandez is on the run—do you honestly think he has time to put together a new identity?"

Kensi shrugged. She leaned against the wall next to Deeks, their arms pressing together.

Suddenly, Deeks shifted to face her, partially obstructing her view and half-pinning her against the wall.

Confused, she looked up at him, trying not to notice how few inches there were between his face and hers. "What are you—"

"Guy on the left, standing next to the column." Deeks's voice was soft, his eyes never leaving hers.

Kensi swallowed and casually peered over Deeks's shoulder. The man standing near one of the marble supports wasn't tall, but he was built—his skin and hair were dark, and he reached up a hand and scratched his stubble, revealing a dark spot on the back of his hand. As if it was subconscious, he tugged the cuff of his jacket down to cover the exposed skin.

"He's watching us." Kensi fought the urge to shudder under the man's calculating gaze.

"No, he's watching _you_." Deeks sounded troubled.

Kensi rolled her eyes in an attempt to mask her trepidation. "I'll, uh, I'll go talk to him." She smoothed a hand down the front of her dress and walked away before she could change her own mind, not wanting to get any closer to the owner of the leery staring.

She took one last sip of her drink, feeling the liquid courage burn like ice before depositing it onto a passing waiter's tray. Swinging her hips as she walked, she could feel more than one pair of eyes drawn to her—including those of the dark man by the column, his half-lidded eyes watching her approach.

Kensi casually leaned against the opposite side of the column, beckoning for a waiter to come over, the gears in her mind turning, trying to generate a way to get him talking.

"Just put it on the Jackson tab." She took a martini from the waiter's tray and he nodded before hurrying off.

"Jackson—that your boyfriend?"

Kensi nearly jumped out of her skin at the gravelly voice, for she surely hadn't expected him to speak first. Composing herself, Kensi put on what she hoped was a sly smile.

"He's not really my boyfriend, no."

"You sure? Because you guys seemed pretty touchy-feely." The man's voice had a thick, unmistakably Spanish accent, and as he raised his glass to his lips, Kensi got a clear view of what was most certainly a fire-breathing dragon tattoo.

Kensi raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, cocking her head to one side. "Yeah, well, I don't think he can. . .give me everything I need." Their unbroken eye contact was practically smoldering, and Hernandez's black eyes were glistening with something dark and terrifying.

"And you think you can find what you need somewhere else?" Hernandez asked, nonchalantly looking away. Kensi felt inexplicably shaken.

Recovering, she purred back, "I _know_ I can find it somewhere else."

"Consider it done."

So fast she didn't even see it coming, his arm flashed out and seized hers, his grip painfully tight. She desperately fought the urge to yank her arm away and disembowel him right then and there, allowing herself to be dragged away from the crowds of people.

The last thing she saw before the door was unceremoniously slammed in her face and she was forcefully guided into the parking lot was Deeks, his eyes wide with worry and his lips moving rapidly as he spoke to Eric or Sam or Callen, one finger pressed to his earwig.

"Where are we going?" Kensi managed, practically able to feel the bruises forming on her arm from his thick hands.

Hernandez didn't answer, continuing to drag her along behind him like a small child. Her earlier observation had been correct—he was short, but extremely strong. They were fast approaching a sleek black car, and Kensi hoped desperately that her partner wasn't about to leave her to get out of this one by herself.

She began to panic as Hernandez gestured for her to get inside the car, holding the door.

"You know, I think I may have lost an earring—" Kensi tried to stall and touched her ear, trying not to let her voice shake. Damn it, where were they?

"No time to go back. You get in the car." Hernandez was getting impatient, his small, sharp eyes watching her suspiciously.

"But they were a gift from my mother—" Choking anxiety began to rise in the back of her throat, scenarios of what might happen if Deeks didn't come beginning to run rampant in her head, and Kensi tried not to appear weak.

"I said, get in the car—" Hernandez snarled, and before Kensi could react, his fist was connecting with her face—she collapsed under the sheer force of the blow, barely registering the tarmac of the parking lot biting into her exposed skin, her head reeling from the hit.

Her vision went fuzzy, blackness seeping in from all sides, and she fought to stay focused as Hernandez raised his hand again, followed by a single voice piercing through the blanket of night and unconsciousness that threatened to settle over her.

"Hit her again and it'll be the last thing you do."

It was Deeks, of course it was Deeks, and Kensi began to fight a three-way battle in her own head as she struggled to remain upright, as well as deliberate whether or not she was going to hit Deeks for not showing up right away or kiss him for being, once again, her knight in shining armor.

Callen and Sam melted out of the darkness, and by the time the three of them had Hernandez and his driver handcuffed and pinned against the car, the world had stopped spinning enough for Kensi to stand.

"You good?" Deeks asked, the question obvious but his face relaying more, his brow creased with worry.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Kensi said.

"You can't be 'fine' after a hit like that." Deeks said, his lips quirking up into a reluctant smile. "Hell, that would've knocked me out."

"That's not saying much, you're a big pansy." Talking was starting to hurt the inside of her head, and Kensi tried not to wince.

Deeks let out a small laugh. "That's my girl." He looked over his shoulder, checking on Sam and Callen as they wrestled the two other men into police cruisers that had materialized out of the night air, and then turned back to Kensi, gently taking her shoulders in his hands. Kensi fought the urge to shake him off, having to remind herself that this was just Deeks. Her partner. Her rock. "Seriously though, you can be honest with me. Maybe we should take you to the ER, you know, just to get you checked over—you could have a concussion, you know, and—"

"I'm not going anywhere but home." Kensi said as firmly as she could, slipping out of his grasp. "I just need to sleep, Deeks, I promise I'm fine." That is, if fine meant her head throbbed, her knees were stinging, her feet ached, and her hands were full of tiny bits of gravel that hurt like hell—but what would hurt the most, she knew, was the way he had looked at her, the way his hands on her had felt. It didn't matter that he hadn't actually touched her, violated her; it was the fact that the owner of those beady black eyes had been prepared to tear her apart, again, that would be the most lasting injury.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

God, she hated lying to him.

~x~

She stood in the bathroom, her hair pulled loose from the extravagant updo it had been pinned in and her ruined dress discarded on the tile floor. She had lost her shoes sometime on the way from the parking lot to her car, avoiding Callen and Sam and simply leaving her wires and bugs on the driver's seat of their Charger.

The small room was already filled with steam from the piping hot water that was currently filling the tub, her mirror fogging over and giving her an awful flashback to her near blacking-out.

Once the water in the bath was to her liking, Kensi shed the rest of her clothes and slipped into it, her body gradually adjusting to the steaming temperature. As the hot liquid began to seep into her abused skin, first burning and then soothing, she began to relax, submerging herself little by little until the only parts left were her hands.

She looked down at her palms and sighed, the skin red and raw where the asphalt had ripped it open. Small bits of rock and gravel were embedded too, jutting out from the soft flesh of her hands and fingers. She had already tried to remove some of the stones; in fact, soaking her hands in peroxide and attempting to pick out some of the debris was the first thing she had done. That is, after she took some painkillers for the throbbing headache she had.

Gritting her teeth, she placed her hands under the water, the expected pain causing her to bite through her lip, drawing blood and a metallic, tangy taste that filled her mouth. After a few moments, the sharp stabs turned into a dull ache, and she cautiously poured a little soap onto her shredded palm. To her surprise, it didn't sting, and with a slightly renewed vigor, she began to wash herself clean, ridding herself of both literal and metaphorical dirt.

As she went, Kensi began to assess the damage—apart from various scrapes and cuts, she seemed alright. She worked her way up her legs and then down her arms, frowning as she came across a solid ring of purple and yellow bruises around her forearm from when Hernandez dragged her to the car. That would be easily enough covered by a long-sleeved shirt; her black eye, on the other hand, would be much more difficult to hide. She hadn't actually looked at it yet, half-afraid of what she'd see, so Kensi had just gone straight to the tub, bypassing the mirror.

After roughly a half an hour, Kensi lifted herself from the tub, water cascading off of her as she reached for a towel. She had started to feel sleepy, most likely because of the hot water, but she couldn't afford falling asleep, not right now. Her dreams would be full of a short man in an expensive suit and a grip like iron, and before she could even consider closing her eyes, she'd have to take enough enough sleep pills to tranquilize a small elephant to ensure her slumber would be dreamless.

She had just wrapped herself in a towel when she heard it—a scuffing step, possibly in the kitchen, followed by what was definitely the sound of a cupboard door shutting.

Her first thought is immediate—she'd left her gun in her bedroom, lying on her bedside table. As quietly as she could manage, Kensi rifled through the basket on her bathroom counter, locating the pair of scissors she uses to cut her hair. She used one hand to hold them like a dagger, the jaw open, and her other to support the towel at her chest. She carefully opened the door, just quick enough to prevent it from squeaking, and silently padded out into the hallway.

Kensi slipped through her carpeted living room, her bare feet noiseless, and paused at the half-wall between it and the kitchen. She took a deep breath before quickly peeking around—a tall shadow was searching through her cabinets, and before she could think too much, she leaped. He went down hard, and she pressed one knee to his chest, the scissors at his throat—

"Deeks?"

"Kensi, what the _hell—_" Deeks spluttered, and Kensi scrambled off of him, readjusting her grip on her towel as she backed away.

"How did you get in here? I though you were a thief—"

Deeks looked momentarily guilty and Kensi sighed. "You picked the lock?"

He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up. "I was, uh, making tea." He gestured at the stove, and sure enough, there was a kettle on one of the burners. "I couldn't find the tea bags. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You were making tea in my house," she said slowly.

"I was worried about you, okay? You just—" Deeks waved a hand. "—didn't look so great."

Kensi flushed. "I'm fine."

"Says the one bleeding from—Kens, you're _hand's bleeding—_" Deeks shot upright as if the thought had just processed completely, and he gingerly took her hand in his, gently pulling the scissors out of her grip. The handle was slick with blood from where it had apparently reopened the cuts on her palm.

"I didn't realize it was this bad." He looked at her, and she blinked, looking away. "And your eye—_Jesus_, Kensi—"

She inhaled and tugged her hand away from his grip. "I'm going to get dressed. The tea's in the second drawer to the left."

Deeks didn't call her out on her deflecting, just turned to the sink to rinse the blood from the scissors.

Kensi made it to her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed and, for a few moments, simply stared at her torn hands. She didn't know how to process this, Deeks knowing, Deeks coming to help her. She never would of asked, never would of _dreamed_—he noticed more than she gave him credit for, that much was certain. She wasn't sure how she felt about that; it'd been too long since someone had cared about her.

She eventually moved and put on leggings and an old t-shirt, but was unable to find the courage to go back out to the kitchen. Kensi heard the kettle whistle as the water reached a boil, and then Deeks shuffling around a bit more. Her hands shook and she wasn't sure why, whether it be him or the cold or just the night in general, so she tucked them under her thighs and squeezed her eyes shut.

There was a soft knock at her door before it creaked open.

"Hey," Deeks said, two steamy mugs in his hands, nudging the door open a bit farther.

"Hi."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Deeks sat down on the bed next to her, handing her a mug. Kensi took it from him carefully, as to not hurt her hands, and took a small sip—peppermint, her favorite.

She made a small noise and he smiled, knowing.

They drained their mugs in silence, and she fiddled with the mug's handle, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

"Do you want to talk?" Deeks asked eventually, and of course he would, because talking is something he's _good _at—taking his feelings and putting them into words, sentences that made sense and convey what he actually meant. And Kensi—Kensi couldn't do that.

"No," she said, and Deeks just nodded and took the mug from her, placing them both on the ground next to the bed.

"Okay," he replied, and before she knew what was happening, he was lying back on the mattress and tugging her down next to him.

"Deeks—" Kensi tensed as he pulled her close, one arm wrapped around her waist, and she fought fear trying to bubble to the surface, but she couldn't help the knives or the hands or the low, scratchy voices from filling her mind, and no, no, she couldn't do this—

"Relax," he said, voice partially muffled by her hair. "It's just me." And just like that, the tension began to ebb, little by little, her gritted teeth easing up and her clenched hands letting go. It wasn't long until she was limp in his arms, fighting and losing a battle against sleep. Kensi tried to sit up, but Deeks tightened his grip around her, keeping her down.

"Deeks," she said softly, almost a question.

His response is a muffled "Mm?"

"Stay."

Deeks didn't answer, just pressed his face in the crook of her neck.

That night, there were no nightmares.


End file.
